


Say You Won't Let Go

by greenandgolden



Series: Say You Won't Let Go [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kidfic, M/M, Smut, Top Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenandgolden/pseuds/greenandgolden
Summary: It isn’t unusual for Zayn to find his husband up in the middle of the night, wandering the house for something to clean or watching infomercials in the dark living room with a cup of tea nearby. He’s always been a night owl, something that Zayn doesn’t necessarily like considering he is a very cuddly sleeper and would rather have Harry beside him than folding laundry or ironing. Or in this case, baking.





	1. Cake For Breakfast

The first time Zayn saw Harry was at the bakery. He’d taken the train to Manchester for the weekend instead of locking himself away in the dorms like he usually did, and decided to surprise Waliyha at school. She’d screamed with excitement when she saw him leaning against the brick wall outside of her hall, running toward him until she was close enough to throw herself in his arms. His sisters were his best friends and no matter the distance or time between them, they always picked up right where they left off.

Waliyha was the one who suggested they grab a bite to eat, bouncing on the balls of her feet as they walked hand in hand down the street, Wali telling him all about her classes and the boy that had been trying (and failing) to ask her out even though she continuously told him she wasn’t interested in dating right now. Zayn just listened, content knowing that she was happy and enjoying her first year at Manchester. And maybe a little happy himself that she was concentrating on school and not boys.

Stepping inside of the old brick building, the smell of fresh bread and vanilla brought memories of Zayn’s childhood to the forefront of his mind. He could remember walking up to the display cases when they went to the shops on Sunday morning and pressing his nose to the glass, his mum trying to wrangle him back in line with little to no success. He wanted to see it all, the colors and decorations, the cakes with words written on them that he couldn’t quite read yet and cookies with smiling faces painted in icing. He was always fascinated with pretty things.

That was when Zayn saw him. He looked up from where he’d been texting Doniya, letting her know they’d be home soon and asking if anyone needed anything from the shop before they headed that way. He looked up, eyes drawn toward the corner of the small eating area, and spotted quite possibly the prettiest boy he’d ever seen.  
He had a book on the table, his face inches from the paper and his mouth moving in silent words as he tore apart a cinnamon roll while he read, popping a piece into his mouth before licking off his thumb. In the next moment he looked up and locked eyes with Zayn, blinking at him with wide, mossy green eyes that made Zayn’s fingers itch for his paints.

Both of them later told each other that it was like getting the wind knocked out of them, like everything clicked into place the second they saw each other. Zayn hadn’t been a believer in love at first sight. Not until Harry.

\---

Zayn’s always been a heavy sleeper. You can bang a pot over his head and he won’t even flinch, an attribute that he both loved and hated. He didn’t have to worry about the noise in the halls back at uni, able to sleep through whatever party was happening or whatever girl his roommate would bring back to their room. But he also slept through his alarm regularly, trying to sneak into the back of his lectures in baggy sweats and a beanie pulled over his greasy hair without being noticed. He pulled it off as often as he didn’t.

But now Zayn’s a parent, and it’s like his body suddenly recognizes that he needs to be alert at any possible moment. His mum teases him about how quickly he’s up and heading for his son’s room whenever he hears a noise, repeatedly talking about what a lazy teenager he’d been and how it took her nearly an hour to get him out of bed every morning or away from the telly after dinner. Now all it takes is the crackle of the baby monitor and Zayn is off and running. 

He still can’t believe it sometimes, that he’s a dad. He’s wanted kids his entire life, having had a big family growing up with his three sisters and a brood of cousins. There was never a dull moment in the Malik household, laughter and chaos around every corner, and Zayn had always dreamt of the day he’d get to have that for himself.

His dream came true when Jaxon Javadd Styles came into the world on a stormy April morning, a whopping nine pounds even. Zayn had stood at Harry’s side, one arm around his husband’s waist and the other holding their surrogate’s hand while she pushed. When the first cry rang out, Harry turned in his arms, wrapping his own around Zayn’s neck as he sobbed into Zayn’s jumper. It had been a wild ride getting to where they were, but when the nurse handed their baby over, their little boy, all of the stress and the worries, the sleepless nights and short tempers went right away. 

Zayn reaches out, frowning with his eyes still closed when he feels Harry’s side of the bed has gone cold. He cracks one eye open and looks at the clock, his brows furrowing when he sees it’s almost three in the morning. 

He kicks his way out of the sheets and blankets, stretching his arms above his head before he treks into the hallway in search of his husband. He doesn’t have to look very hard, his nose leading him straight to the kitchen where he finds Harry in front of the sink, rinsing out a mixing bowl with Jax strapped to his chest in the Boba Wrap he’s been obsessed with since Gemma bought it for him. 

It isn’t unusual for Zayn to find his husband up in the middle of the night, wandering the house for something to clean or watching infomercials in the dark living room with a cup of tea nearby. He’s always been a night owl, something that Zayn doesn’t necessarily like considering he is a very cuddly sleeper and would rather have Harry beside him than folding laundry or ironing. Or in this case, baking.

“Shhh,” Harry coos as Jax starts to fuss, rocking from side to side as he brushes his lips over his son’s head. His baby boy is one now, the thought causing Harry to have to fight off tears. Earlier he’d stood over Jax’s crib and waited for the clock to strike midnight, wanting to be the first person to wish him a happy birthday. He hadn’t meant to wake Jax up when he reached down to smooth his hair back but he’d just stretched his little legs out and blinked his eyes open, squinting up at Harry. When he realized it was his daddy, Jax had given him a sleepy smile and Harry couldn’t help himself, he had to pluck him up out of bed and cuddle him. 

“You’ll wake Baba,” he whispers, smiling when Jax blinks his eyes open. He’s honestly too big to be carrying around in that wrap but Harry doesn’t care. He’ll carry him forever if he asks, bad back be damned.

Jax snuffles against Harry’s chest, rubbing his eye with a chubby fist while the other hand pulls his pacifier from his mouth. 

“Baba.”

“Baba’s sleeping,” Harry whispers, brushing a stray hair off of Jax’s forehead. He truly does need a trim but that’s another milestone that Harry can’t deal with right now. “We don’t want to wake him up, okay? Baba’s been working really hard, he needs his rest.”

“Baba,” Jax repeats a little louder and Harry’s just about to shush him again when Zayn let’s his presence be known. 

“Are you looking for me, jaan?”

Harry and Jax both turn their heads to look at him, the younger Styles smiling, his dimples rivaling his father’s, while Harry frowns at him as he makes his way over. 

“Did we wake you?” Harry asks, watching Zayn press a kiss to one of Jax’s dimples and moving to unwrap him when he reaches for Zayn. 

“Saw you were gone,” Zayn shrugs, settling Jax on his hip, giving him another kiss because he’s right there and his skin is so soft. He smells like the expensive baby shampoo that Harry splurges on, insisting that he must maintain their son’s inherited curls to prevent it from frizzing up. “What are you doing?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry shrugs, turning back to the dishes. 

“I see that.” Zayn huddles up behind him, resting his free hand on Harry’s hip. He knows Harry well enough to know that he needs physical contact when he’s feeling sensitive, it’s just the way he works. So Zayn presses his lips against Harry’s shoulder, then to the nape of his neck before walking to the refrigerator for a bottle. “What are you baking?”

“Red velvet cake with vanilla bean buttercream.” He looks over at where Zayn is leaning against the kitchen island, helping Jax hold up his bottle while Zayn chews on his bottom lip, watching Harry with what looks like the beginnings of a smirk. 

“Don’t laugh.”

“No laughing here,” Zayn promises, swallowing the chuckle that had been a mere second away from escaping his mouth. “Three AM baking is serious business.”

“Now is not the time for teasing, Zayn. I’m very emotional.”

“I know, babes, come here.” 

Harry shuffles over to them, Zayn pulling his into his side while they both watch Jax’s eyes flutter, a bit milk drunk as sleep takes him under again. 

“How is he one already?” Harry whispers, running his knuckles across their son’s cheek. “He’s not supposed to grow this fast.”

“’fraid that’s how it works, love. Can’t keep him a baby forever.”

“I would if I could.”

“I know,” Zayn chuckles, pulling Harry closer as he tries to move away when Zayn’s breath tickles his neck. “Not that I’m against extra sweets but what’s it for? Didn’t we order a cake for his birthday?”

“For the party, yes, but I wanted to make him his first official birthday cake. I want it to be just the three of us, something we can experience alone before the house gets crowded and noisy.”

“Cake for breakfast?” 

“Cake for breakfast,” Harry nods. “Just this once. Just for us.” 

“You’re a sap,” Zayn says fondly, leaning over to kiss the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Harry whispers against Zayn’s lips before pressing them gently to his son’s temple. “Now go back to bed, you’re both crabby when you don’t get enough sleep.”

“How long will you be?” Zayn takes the bottle from Jax’s limp hands and gives it to Harry to rinse out. 

“Fifteen minutes or so. I’ll frost it in the morning so just until it finishes baking.”

“Okay.” With one last kiss to Harry, Zayn shuffles back to their room with Jax tucked into his arm, his pacifier now replacing the bottle he’d finished. They don’t make a habit of  
letting Jax sleep in their bed but it is his first birthday and maybe Zayn’s feeling a bit misty about it too. 

He pulls back the blanket on his side and carefully sits down before scooting toward the center. He arranges an extra pillow between his and Harry’s, gently moving Jax to lay down in the middle of the bed. When he’s sure that his son is settled, he slides down until he’s lying beside him. 

“I love you, jaan.” Zayn brushes a tiny curl from his forehead, smiling when Jax starts sucking harder on his pacifier and reaching for Zayn. Like his baba and daddy, he’s very much a cuddler. 

He’s a mini Harry, which Zayn is absolutely ecstatic about. When he’d first brought up surrogacy, Harry had fought him tooth and nail for Zayn to be the donor. 

“I’m nothing special, Zayn,” Harry had told him, cuddling closer on their couch as they looked through the paperwork the fertility clinic had given them. “I want him or her to look like you.”

“Tough luck, love, cuz I want a whole brood of Styles babies running wild.” Zayn tugged on an errant curl and leaned in, whispering against Harry’s lips. “And you’re wrong. You’re the most special.”

Zayn had won in the end, with Harry agreeing to biologically father their first child under the condition that Zayn gets a go at the second one. He also demanded that they choose an egg donor with Pakistani roots. 

“Blood or not, I want you to be a part of this baby. Your heritage is important to you and it’s important to me. I want our children to have that.” 

“Is he out?”

Zayn looks up from where he’d been watching Jax sleep, not realizing how much time had passed, and smiles at Harry as he walks into the room. He sheds his t-shirt as Zayn pulls back the sheets on Harry’s side for him and waits until he’s laying down before tossing them over his chest. 

Harry carefully moves onto his side, scooting closer to cuddle his son and hold his husband’s hand. They both watch Jax sleep for a few minutes, his little snuffles and their breathing the only sound in the room until Harry speaks. 

“How did we get so lucky?” he whispers, not bothering to blink back his tears. Zayn’s seen him cry hundreds of times and this certainly won’t be the last. “Sometimes when I look at him it hurts with how much I love him.”

“Me too,” Zayn hums, rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of Harry’s hand. He doesn’t bother to add that he feels that way every time he looks at Harry too. 

\---

Zayn wakes to the sound of muffled cursing and opens one eye as he looks toward the bedroom door. It opens not a moment later, Harry stepping in with a tray in his hands. He smiles when he sees Zayn’s awake and makes his way to the bed, carefully setting the tray down before climbing back in with his boys. 

“What’s all this?” Zayn whispers, nodding his head toward the tray. 

“Breakfast in bed.” Harry leans over their son and presses a soft kiss to Zayn’s mouth. “Shall we wake the birthday boy?”

“If we must,” Zayn rolls his eyes but he’s already smiling and reaching for Jax’s side, giving him a little tickle until he starts moving his legs about, pointing his toes and letting out sweet little grunts as he stretches.

“Good morning,” Harry murmurs, stroking Jax’s cheek while he comes to consciousness. “Happy birthday my sweet boy.”

Jax rolls over into Harry’s side and squirms until he’s fitted right against him as Zayn laughs. He’s much like Zayn when it comes to sleep. He loves it, and he can’t be startled or he’ll be fussy all day. No, he needs to be coaxed out of sleep with gentle touches and soft words, like how Harry used to have to wake Zayn before they had a baby.

“Just like Baba,” Harry laughs, rubbing his hand up and down Jax’s back as Zayn pushes himself into a sitting position. 

He looks at the tray, where there is a giant slab of cake on a plate, one fork sitting beside it. There are two steaming mugs, one with Zayn’s usual black coffee and one with Harry’s breakfast blend tea along with a sip cup of milk for Jax. And because Harry is Harry and he can’t justify having just cake, there’s a bowl of finely diced fruit to counterbalance it. 

They spend the next few minutes playing with Jax once he’s woken up. There are presents for him in the living room but they’ve decided to wait on those until their families come over in the afternoon. 

Harry reaches for the plate and hands it to Zayn before grabbing the candle that he’d gotten at the market the day before. It’s a big, gaudy one carved in colored wax and Zayn absolutely loves it, as does Jax. He tries to grab for it but Harry tuts at him before carefully sticking it into the cake and lighting the wick. 

Jax’s eyes shift between Zayn and Harry and the flickering candle as they sing. He has no idea what’s going on but he loves when people pay attention to him so before they finish singing he’s clapping along and laughing, so pleased to have both of his father’s attention on him. 

Blowing out the candle involves more spit than either of them care to think about but Harry cuts the fork into the cake anyway, giving the first bite to Jax as he leans toward Harry with his mouth open. 

“Is it good?” Harry asks him, smiling when Jax reaches for the fork himself. If they weren’t in their bed he would let Jax tear into it but they’ve got a smash cake for him later so Harry carefully feeds him another bite before cutting one for Zayn. “Good?” he asks, watching Zayn chew. 

“So good,” Zayn hums, licking a bit of frosting from the corner of his mouth. “Not that I’m at all surprised.” 

“Well, I used to be a baker, you know.” Harry laughs at Zayn’s eye roll because even after all the years they’ve been together, Harry still has to point that out any time that he bakes something. It used to drive Zayn mad but now it just makes him smile seeing Harry proud of himself, and sharing something that he loves with their son. And because he’s just as big a sap as his husband, Zayn can’t help but think that this, cake in bed with the two loves of his life, is what dreams are made of.


	2. We've Come So Far My Dear (Look How We've Grown)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s too early to be up, even now that he’s a morning person, but Jax will be pattering down the hall within the hour, calling for his Daddy and Baba, and he needs some time alone with Harry. He smiles into the top of Harry’s spine as he thinks about the present he has for him, safely nestled inside the box by his knee. 
> 
> A Zarry Father's Day drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something I've been working on ever since I wrote Cake For Breakfast. 
> 
> Title from James Arthur's 'Say You Won't Let Go'

“Babe,” Zayn whispers into the base of Harry’s neck. He hasn’t shaved for a few days, per Harry’s request, so his scruff leaves tiny little red scratches across his husband’s shoulders as he works his mouth over the bare skin.

It’s too early to be up, even now that he’s a morning person, but Jax will be pattering down the hall within the hour, calling for his Daddy and Baba, and he needs some time alone with Harry. He smiles into the top of Harry’s spine as he thinks about the present he has for him, safely nestled inside the box by his knee.

“Wake up, Haz.” Harry turns his head to the side and Zayn takes advantage by pressing his face right there under his ear, sucking lightly because it’s one of those sweet spots that Harry loves having kissed. He groans in his sleep and Zayn smiles when he feels Harry’s hips cant down into the mattress.

“Tired,” Harry mumbles, shoving his hands under his pillow.

“I know, baby.” Zayn kisses the top of his spine, slowly making his way down, lips pressing gently against the smooth, pale skin of his back. He kisses every freckle and mole, every imperfection that makes Harry absolutely perfect for him, reveling in the way Harry’s muscles flex under his lips, strong and solid.

The only thing Zayn loves more than his husband is their son, the son Harry gave them, this perfect little specimen that looks so much like the both of them that Zayn knows he’s a miracle. He feels himself welling up at the thought of more. Of a big family, of a noisy, messy house filled with laughter and tears and everything in between. It’s all he’s ever wanted. All he’s ever wanted to give to Harry.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Zayn whispers between the dimples at the bottom of Harry’s back. Harry must hear him because he hums lowly and brings one hand down to push through Zayn’s hair, his voice raspy from sleep when he finally speaks.

“Happy Father’s Day, babe.”

“I have something for you.”

“Do you?” Harry chuckles, pushing his hips back until his ass bumps Zayn’s face. He squeals when he feels Zayn’s teeth sink into his skin through the sheet, and presses his face into the mattress to muffle his laughter.

“It’s a really good present,” Zayn tells him, pulling the sheet down so he can kiss Harry’s cheek where his teeth marks are imprinted. Harry’s breath hitches in his throat and Zayn smiles against his skin, pressing one more kiss before he pushes himself up on his hands and knees. “Roll over.”

Harry groans but does as he’s told, careful not to knee Zayn in the crotch where he’s straddling him. He’s incredibly hard and if he’s being honest, waking up to sex with his gorgeous husband is probably the best gift Zayn could give him so he can forego the extra hour of sleep if it means he gets an orgasm before six am.

“Morning,” Harry rasps, reaching up to push Zayn’s hair out of his face. His smile drops a bit when he sees Zayn’s gone a little misty, his mouth slack and eyes glistening as he stares down at him. “Baby.” Harry pushes himself into a sitting position, pulling Zayn against him so he’s fully in his lap, chest to chest, because Zayn looks like he might be on the verge of breaking and Harry’s afraid to ask why. “What’s wrong?” He cups Zayn’s face in his hands, his thumbs stroking over his cheekbones while his eyes dance between Zayn’s, searching.

Zayn doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at Harry, looks at Harry looking at him, and he has no clue how he got so lucky. How a chance encounter in a shitty bar brought him back together with the cute guy he’d seen _one time_ in a random bakery while he’d been visiting Wali. How they’d been nearly inseparable after that night, constant texts and late night calls keeping them connected until one of them could hop the train to visit the other. Harry still makes his heart pound like he’s twenty and falling in love for the first time, and Zayn hopes he does the same for Harry.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry huffs, brows furrowed low over his eyes. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“No.” Zayn shakes his head, laughing a little at himself before pressing his mouth to Harry’s. Their breath is stale and on the wrong side of rank but it doesn’t bother either of them in the slightest.

Zayn pushes closer, opening his mouth to Harry and groaning into his husband’s mouth as he feels how hard Harry is under the sheet. Sex wasn’t part of his plan, it truly wasn’t, but then again the house is quiet and maybe they have enough time, hoping Jax doesn’t come crashing in.

“Is this my present?” Harry asks, skating his hand down Zayn’s chest, through the spatter of hair under his navel, until he hits the band of his briefs. He circles his thumb over the head of Zayn’s dick, smiling against Zayn’s mouth when he moans and pushes closer. “Is it?” Harry repeats, pushing down with his thumb. “Do I get to open it? You gonna let me?”

“Yeah,” Zayn whispers, digging his fingers into Harry’s shoulders.

They’re very meticulous about sex now, planning it to a T because they know they can be interrupted at any given moment. Gone are the days when Zayn could blow Harry on his knees on the kitchen floor while Harry tried not to burn dinner, or Harry walking into Zayn’s study naked and already open, riding Zayn’s dick on the chair he’d bought him for that specific purpose. Harry always thought scheduled sex would ruin them or put them out of the mood or make it less exciting but truth be told, the suspense, knowing it’s going to happen on a certain day at a certain time, is almost as exciting as when it happens naturally.  

Harry rolls Zayn onto his back and leaves wet, openmouthed kisses down his chest, pulling his briefs down enough to get his cock out and give the tip a gentle suck. Zayn gasps quietly, one hand finding Harry’s hair and the other finding his own, giving them both a tug hard enough to elicit two different moans.

“What do you want?” Harry asks, fisting Zayn’s cock in his hand. Zayn doesn’t answer, just moans again and tightens his hand in Harry’s hair. “Come on, babe, tell me. We have to hurry.”

“I-“ Zayn gasps again, feeling Harry’s tongue catch the bubble of precome from his tip, and looks down at him. Harry’s already looking back, waiting patiently while he works his tongue and hand in sync just how Zayn likes. “I want-“

“What?” Harry whispers, licking his lips in anticipation. “What do you want?”

“You,” Zayn sighs, eyes slipping shut when Harry’s free hand cups his balls, gently rolling them between his fingers. “I don’t care how, just you.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his chest at Zayn’s confession. They’ve been together close to a decade and it’ll never get old, hearing Zayn tell him he wants him. In the beginning he’d always thought that he loved Zayn just a little more, wanted him a little more that Zayn wanted him. They’d talked about their future, about marriage and babies, but Harry always thought of it as _soon_ while he thought Zayn considered it _someday_. But then Zayn had taken him completely by surprise, pulling out a ring when they were lying in bed in their cramped apartment just outside of Manchester, when living in London was still a far off dream. Zayn had told him that he loved Harry more than anything, and there wasn’t anyone he could ever imagine making a home and family with. Harry had cried so hard that Zayn had to dig through their bedside table for his inhaler. Harry never questioned Zayn’s devotion again. They were equals in life and love, and he prayed every single night that that would never change. That they would love at eighty just as fiercely as at twenty.

“Sit up,” Harry orders, resting on his heels while Zayn pushes himself against the headboard, pupils blown as he watches Harry reach for the bottle of lube they keep tucked between the mattress and box spring. Jax has snuck into their room one too many times, as curious as any two year old, and once came patting back into the living room with a bottle of cherry lube in his hand thinking it was candy. Zayn had laughed until he could barely breathe while Harry turned beet red, absolutely mortified.

Harry slicks Zayn up and wipes his hand on the sheet, knowing Zayn will change them as soon as they’re able to move again. He knees his way up Zayn’s body until their chests are only an inch or two apart, and kisses Zayn. He kisses him slow and deep, Zayn rocking his hips up, his cock nudging at the back of Harry’s balls, a silent plea to hurry up and fuck him already.

Harry doesn’t hesitate after that. He reaches back, gripping Zayn and rubbing him between his cheeks, Zayn’s cock catching on his rim. He breathes deep as he presses back, easing Zayn into him, focusing on the gorgeous man under him instead of the way he feels like he’s going to split in half.

They don’t do this often, fuck without prepping, but sometimes Harry wants to feel it all day, wants to remember this with every step he takes because it’s another reminder that Zayn is his. That this smart, talented, gorgeous creature chose him, wants him, loves him. And on days like today, where they’re celebrating the fact that they’re fathers, that they have a son that is so perfect it hurts, he needs to feel Zayn, to be as close as possible to him, to feel like one unit, like they’re inseparable.

“I love you,” Zayn whispers, cupping a hand behind Harry’s neck. He pulls him down until their mouths meet, just a press a lips as they both breathe through the stretch.

Harry is tight, so warm around him, and Zayn knows to take it slow, to take care of him, to be gentle. He doesn’t ever want to hurt him, even when Harry asks for it a little rough.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, giving himself a second to adjust, to get through the burn. It hurts just on the wrong side of pain, but only for a few seconds before it ebbs into want. _Need._ He takes a deep breath and slowly lowers himself until he’s fully seated, his head tilted back toward the ceiling as he swivels his hips, getting himself used to it.

“Fuck,” Zayn echoes, his eyes everywhere at once. On Harry’s face and neck, his chest that’s just beginning to dampen with sweat, his abdomen that contracts every time he or Zayn move, his dick that stands tall and hard, quietly slapping against his belly as he begins bounces. His eyes finally land where they meet, where he disappears into Harry over and over, and he can’t hold back anymore. He _can’t._ “Fuck, H, you feel so good. So fucking good, I love you,” he whispers, moving his arms under Harry’s and hooking his hands over the back of Harry’s shoulders, pulling him down onto his cock even as he thrusts up. It pulls these quiet gasps from Harry, makes him grip Zayn’s hair at the base of his neck in one hand and squeeze his shoulder with the other, using it as leverage to slam himself onto Zayn’s lap.

“I love you,” Harry returns, head tilted back, reveling in the feel of Zayn inside him. His knees are starting to ache and his back’s going to give him hell later but he doesn’t care about anything, not when he’s close, not when he knows Zayn’s close. “I love you so much Zayn, please, come on, harder, please, fill me up, make me come, I need it, I need you.”

Harry’s always been a rambler, especially during sex, his sentences all melding into one, sometimes bordering incoherent if Zayn’s teased him long enough. Zayn loves it, the way Harry unravels, the way he makes Harry’s thought jumble until his words finally fall away and all that’s left are gasps and groans and the sound he makes when he finally comes. This loud huff, like an exhale, like Zayn’s forcing all of the oxygen out of his body. In the end, that’s usually what gets Zayn, that has him gripping Harry harder, holding him still, pressing his mouth to whatever part of Harry’s body he can reach to muffle his moans as he pulses inside of him, filling him up just like Harry had begged him to.

Zayn rests his forehead against Harry’s chest, Harry’s fingers tangled in his hair as they try to catch their breath. When Zayn thinks he can talk again, he sits back and smiles up at Harry, at the debouched look of him, his hair a fucking mess, his cheeks still pink from exertion.

“Morning,” he laughs, pushing Harry’s hair off of his forehead.

“Morning,” Harry huffs, kissing his forehead. “And thank you. Best present ever.”

“That wasn’t even it.” Zayn rolls his eyes as he feels around in the sheets, trying to find the box.

“There’s more?” Harry asks, looking over his shoulder and watching Zayn’s fingers close around a long, rectangular box.

“Budge up,” Zayn tells him, tapping his hip. “Let’s get cleaned up first.”

“That can wait.” Harry reaches for the box but Zayn pulls it out of his reach. “Come on, give it to me.”

“Thought I just did.” Now it’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Zayn, come on, you know I hate waiting,” Harry whines.

“And I hate being covered in come and having my soft dick in your ass.”

“Too bad, I love it.” Harry gives his hips a little wiggle, laughing at Zayn’s grimace. He does love it, being full Zayn. His cock, his fingers, his come. Harry’s really not picky. “’M not moving so give it up.”

“Fine,” Zayn sighs, pulling the sheets up to cover his legs and Harry’s bum. He’d rather do this when they’re semi-decent but whatever. He hands Harry the box, watches him examine the black velvet, feels his heart beat erratically in his chest as Harry tries to guess what it is.

“A pen? No. A watch? I did break the clasp on the other one, a watch would be good.”

“It’s better than a watch. Hey.” Zayn waits for Harry to look at him and then pulls him down for a kiss. “I love you,” he whispers against Harry’s mouth, feeling Harry smile against his lips.

“I love you too. Now can I open it?”

“Go for it, babe.”

Zayn watches the excitement on Harry’s face, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he gives Zayn a cheeky eyebrow wiggle before he cracks the box open.

Harry’s smile dies instantly when he sees what’s inside. Zayn’s sure his heart must be beating just as fast now, as Harry pulls one hand up to cover his mouth, the other still clutching the box, his eyes unwavering. It’s not until he starts crying that he looks up at Zayn, his chest moving faster, his hand unable to hide the way he’s breathing a little harder.

“Happy Father’s Day, Harry.”

“A baby,” Harry whispers, looking back down at the box. The pregnancy test stares back at him, two pink lines telling him all he needs to know. “We’re having a baby.”

“A new year’s baby,” Zayn tells him, feeling his own eyes well up as Harry starts to sob. “Literally, she’s due New Year’s Day.”

“A baby,” Harry repeats, wrapping his arms around Zayn and clutching him, afraid that if he lets go it’ll all be a dream. They’d only just talked about trying IVF again after Zayn’s birthday, which means he must have made the appointments almost right after. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Was afraid it wouldn’t work,” Zayn shrugs, sniffling into Harry’s neck. “Didn’t want to disappoint you if it didn’t take.”

“You idiot.” Harry presses a wet kiss to Zayn’s shoulder, looking at the box where he’s holding it behind Zayn’s back. “You could never disappoint me.”

Zayn doesn’t answer, just holds Harry tight while they both cry, while they both revel in the fact that they’re about to be dads for the second time. Another Styles baby, this time with Malik DNA, someone for Jax to play and grow up with, another kid for Harry to bake with, the final piece of their puzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Either way, let me know! And here's my [tumblr](http://inkoasis.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat...
> 
> xo


	3. I Want To Live With You, Even When We're Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry doesn’t know how he got here, leaning against the kitchen sink, watching his husband and children play in the leaves while he stays inside, dinner simmering on the stove while the autumn sun sets behind his family. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be out there with them. God, he does. But he knows Zayn wouldn’t appreciate it, that he likes his own time with the kids, separate from Harry, because that’s how they do things now. Separately.

Harry doesn’t know how he got here, leaning against the kitchen sink, watching his husband and children play in the leaves while he stays inside, dinner simmering on the stove while the autumn sun sets behind his family. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be out there with them. God, he does. But he knows Zayn wouldn’t appreciate it, that he likes his own time with the kids, separate from Harry, because that’s how they do things now. _Separately_.

Harry grabs the sides of his sweater and pulls it tighter around himself as he watches Jax jump into the pile Zayn’s just raked up. He isn’t cold, not in a temperature sense, the thermostat set at a comfortable sixty-eight degrees, but being frozen out by his husband chills him to the bone.

He smiles as Everly laughs at Jax, her tiny arms wrapped around Zayn’s thigh as she watches her brother toss leaves above his head before she lets go of Zayn to try it herself. She’s in that phase now where she wants to emulate everything Jax does, running when he runs, laughing when he laughs, flopping herself on the ground in protest when Jax throws the occasional tantrum. He’s her favorite person in the entire world and Harry can’t even be mad that it’s not him, not when he sees the way Jax leads her around, showing her the ropes, the protective big brother that he and Zayn always knew he’d be. His children’s relationship is quite possibly the best thing Harry’s ever witnessed.

Everly grabs a few leaves and chucks them in the air and must say something funny, if the way Zayn’s head falls back in laughter is any indication. Harry doesn’t need to hear it to know how happy Zayn is, he can see it on his face as he grabs Ev under her arms and tosses her into the air. Her smile matches Zayn’s and Harry’s heart clenches like it does every time he sees it, the way she looks so much like her father, so much like the man that Harry loves with every bone in his body, with just enough Jax in her to recognize that they’re siblings. They’re all three so beautiful it hurts.

He’d felt a bit left out in the beginning, to be honest. After they’d brought Everly home from the hospital and their friends and family kept commenting on how gorgeous she was and how she looked just like Zayn but with Jaxon’s nose. Harry couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t belong, which he knows in hindsight was ridiculous because people had said the same thing about Jaxon when he was born, how he looked so much like Harry and was the prettiest baby they’d ever seen and Zayn had done nothing but beam at his family, proud of Harry and their baby, not bothered in the slightest that he didn’t share blood with their son. But Harry’s always been more sensitive. Always needed more reassurance, been a bit more needy. But still, he’d never expected for their daughter’s arrival affect him so much, at least not negatively.

They’d decided early on to take turns as sperm donors, Zayn insisting that they try Harry’s first, that he wanted nothing more than to hold Harry’s baby, _their_ baby, in his arms. And Harry agreed, with the promise that Zayn would get the second go around, once they were ready, because Harry could barely stand the wait either, craving a child with his husband’s dark hair and gentle eyes.

And then there she was, Everly Anne Styles, born January fourth, three days past her due date, weighing in at a perfect eight pounds even and with the softest skin Harry had ever felt. A perfect mix of his husband and son, wide-eyed and calm, so much like Zayn that Harry had to rub a hand over his heart to ease the ache in his chest. He was so full of love for their little girl, he could have burst.

It wasn’t until months later, when both kids were down for a nap and Zayn found Harry crying in the shower, that he admitted out loud that he felt like an outsider. That he was afraid he wouldn’t bond with Ev like he did with Jax, or that Ev would grow up to think that he wasn’t her dad because she already had Zayn. Because she didn’t share his DNA.

Zayn had wrapped a towel around him and cuddled him on their bed, kissing his damp hair while Harry’s tears subsided, quietly whispering how ridiculous Harry was in between presses of his lips. Promising him that Jax and Ev adored him, that it didn’t matter whose blood was whose, that they were both _their_ children and they would grow up with two strong, loving, protective fathers who would do anything to keep them safe and happy. And Harry knew he was right, like Zayn usually was. And from that day forward, he never questioned his relationship with his daughter again. His relationship with Zayn, however, was a different story.

\---

Harry hates sitting in this room. It’s always a few degrees too cold, the chairs too close together for a place where privacy is supposed to be key. There’s a woman across from him sniffling into a Kleenex while her husband sits one seat away, chewing gum and scrolling through his phone like he’d rather be anywhere else in the entire world. Harry thinks he’s kind of an asshole, but also kind of feels for him. He’d rather be anywhere else, too.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, reaching over to put a hand on Zayn’s knee where it’s bouncing. He knows Zayn’s nervous, this isn’t their first rodeo and it’s always just as shitty as it was the first time, as they wait for their names to be called. He hates that this place makes Zayn anxious. “We can just go-“

“No,” Zayn snaps, flinching away from Harry’s touch. He keeps him eyes focused on where his hands are clasped together in his lap so he doesn’t have to see the look on Harry’s face when he recoils from him. He doesn’t want to be touched right now, not by Harry, not by anyone. He hates this room, hates why they’re here, hates the way his skin still craves Harry’s touch even when his heart can’t take it.

“Zayn-“

“Styles.”

They both look up then, blinking at the receptionist as she calls their last name. Zayn pushes himself out of his seat and walks right past the woman, Harry going at a slower pace and thanking her even as she sends him a sad smile as she holds the door for them. God, Harry really hates this place.

\---

“Harry.” He looks up at the sound of his name, Dr. Kasper staring expectedly, and it’s only then that he realizes she must have been talking to him. He’s always been a bit spacey but this isn’t really the time and place, not when he’s trying to keep his life from falling apart.

“Sorry, what?”

Zayn scoffs where he’s sat a few feet away, on the other end of the love seat, as far away from Harry as he can get without pressing himself against the wall.

“I asked how things are going at home,” she repeats gently, smiling at him in that encouraging way that she has.

“Oh, um. Good? Yeah, it’s good. The kids are great, you know, growing like weeds, keeping us on our toes.” He knows that’s not what she’s asking and by the look she gives him, she knows he knows.

“And with Zayn?” she presses. “How are things between the two of you?”

“They’re, um…okay? I guess?” He steals a glance at his husband but Zayn’s staring at his hands, spinning his wedding ring around on his finger the way he always does when they’re here, like he’s contemplating what it means. Harry’s just grateful he hasn’t taken it off yet. “We don’t, like, talk much outside of dinner and bedtime, you know? But I think things are okay. I feel like maybe we’re…maybe we’re getting better?”

Harry’s head snaps over when Zayn laughs, actually laughs, like Harry’s said something funny. But nothing about this situation is humorous and Zayn must not think so either, with the dark look he sends Harry’s way.

“When are you going to stop fucking lying?”

“What?” Harry whispers, his eyes bouncing between Zayn’s.

“We’re not okay, Harry, not even close.” Zayn shakes his head at him, annoyance and disappointment clearly painted on his face. “We haven’t been okay in months, we’re not going to be okay-“

“Don’t,” Harry shakes his head, trying to blink back the tears springing to his eyes. He hates it when Zayn makes comments about them not being together in the future. He refuses to believe that there will be a day when they aren’t.

“Why are we here?” Zayn demands, staring right at him and Harry gulps at the attention. It’s the most eye contact they’ve had in weeks. “Why am I paying her to listen to your bullshit? Is it so you can feel less guilty about _why_ we’re here?”

“Zayn,” Dr. Kasper tries to interrupt but he ignores her. He’s been waiting for this moment, for the time where he can unleash on Harry, and it’s finally here. They’ve been dancing around the issue since it happened and Zayn’s sick of it.

“Can you even say it out loud?” Zayn wonders, watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “Can you?”

“Zayn, I-“

“You cheated on me.”

“I didn’t,” Harry whispers, shaking his head even faster. There’s no use trying to hold the tears back now, not with the way Zayn’s looking at him like he’s the worst person alive. “I didn’t, I swear. I never-“

“Just because you didn’t fuck him doesn’t mean you didn’t betray me.”

They stare at each other, Harry silently crying while Zayn’s eyes show no sign of emotion. He’s cried enough behind closed doors, locked away in their guest room because he can’t stand to sleep in the bed that he’s supposed to share with his husband. He doesn’t have any tears left right now, not when Harry can’t even admit that he’s done something wrong.

“Do you understand what you’ve done to us? What you’ve done to _me_?” Zayn asks, and he’s being gentler now, his voice softening, because he wants a real explanation and yelling at Harry has never gotten him anywhere. He wants Harry to look him in the eye and tell him the truth. Tell him why he sought comfort somewhere else when all he had to do was go to Zayn. “We come here every week and we do this dance where we answer as minimally as we can or you try to pretend that we don’t sleep in separate rooms and that we’re making progress when you can’t even look me in the eye and admit that you were wrong. That what you did was wrong. _You_ caused this, Harry. You broke us, and you can’t even man up to your mistakes so that we can fix it.”

“What do you want me to say?” Harry begs, turning his body toward Zayn. “Do you want me to say that I fell out of love with you and in love with someone else? That I’m not dying inside every single day because I can’t even touch you without you flinching? Because I can’t do that, Zayn. I _do_ love you. Not him, not anyone else, _you_. It’s only ever been you.”

“Then why-“

“Because I was lonely!” Harry cries. And there it is. There’s the brutal truth, the thing that Harry had been trying to hide. “I was lonely, Zayn. You were so busy with work and when you weren’t, it was all about the kids and that’s the way it should be, I _know_ that and I’m not blaming you, I swear. He just…he was there and he was nice to me and he listened, even when all I had to say was something stupid. Because you were so focused, you know? I didn’t want to bother you. We weren’t…we weren’t us, you know? We didn’t kiss or hug like we used to, or cuddle in bed, and it had been weeks since we’d had sex. I just…it felt like I was losing you. You didn’t look at me anymore.”

“You found someone else because you didn’t think you could talk to me?”

“I didn’t find anyone!” Harry snaps because Zayn’s not _listening_. “He was someone to talk to, that’s all, I never-”

“I saw the texts, Harry, don’t you dare fucking lie to me,” Zayn points a finger in Harry’s face, eyes angry. “You told him things about us, about our kids. You _flirted_ with him. You told him we hadn’t had sex in ages and you laughed when he suggested you spend the night at his place. You _laughed_ , Harry.”

The room falls silent after that, Zayn and Harry staring at each other, Dr. Kasper’s eyes flitting back and forth between them, keeping quiet now because this is the most progress they’ve made in the two months she’s been seeing them and she doesn’t want to ruin it, not when they’re actually getting somewhere.

“I think I’d rather you slept with him,” Zayn whispers, looking down at his hands. “I think it would have hurt less to know it was just sex than to know there was attachment. That you shared feelings with someone else.”

Harry takes a deep breath and looks down at his hands, at the silver band on his finger that Zayn gave to him back in their shitty Manchester apartment all those years ago when they were two broke uni grads hopelessly in love. He knew then and he knows now, Zayn’s it for him. No matter how lonely he gets, no matter what Zayn decides when this is all said and done, Zayn will always be _it_ , even if he’s not it for Zayn.

“I love you,” Harry tells him, clenching his fingers into a fist. “I love you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust, I’m sorry I thought it was okay to tell someone else about our problems. I’m sorry that I made you think I ever wanted anyone but you. Because I don’t, Zayn.” Harry reaches for him then, scoots a little closer and places a tentative hand on Zayn’s forearm, biting back a sob when Zayn doesn’t pull away. “I’ve never wanted anyone else. I just…it felt nice, you know? That someone thought I was special.”

“I think you’re special!“ Zayn gapes, hurt seeping through his tone.

“But it wasn’t about you. I know that sounds like bullshit or cruel or selfish but I just, I felt like I wasn’t important enough, or like a priority, you know? And that’s my fault too, cuz I should have talked to you, I should have said that I needed you more because we could have avoided this entire mess but it was just…it was stupid. I didn’t go looking for anything, I didn’t pursue him, I just…he noticed one day, that I was down, and it just started from there. I didn’t ever want more than friendship, I promise you. And I know it looks bad, I know the texts and shit, that it looks like I’m lying but I’m _not_. I didn’t know what to say when he made those comments, you know? It was easier to laugh it off, to make it seem like a joke because it was too uncomfortable to even fathom. I didn’t…I never touched, I never let him touch me. I never even considered it, I never would. I’m sorry I joked about it. I’m sorry I made light of the situation because that was so shitty of me, I know it was. If it were you and I’d seen that…I don’t…” Harry shrugs his shoulders, sniffling as he looks down at his jeans. The thought of Zayn acting the way he did makes his stomach turn. He hates himself for putting Zayn through that. “I don’t know what I would do.”

They both sniffle to themselves, Harry still touching Zayn’s arm and Zayn still not pulling away. They haven’t shared body heat in so long and they both just take a minute to revel in it.

“I love you,” Harry whispers, slowly leaning his forehead on Zayn’s shoulder. His scent and his warmth is so familiar, so intoxicating that Harry actually sobs. “I love you,” he repeats, turning his head so not even the doctor will be able to hear him. “I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry I hurt us. I’m sorry I let my insecurities get the best of me and almost ruined everything. I’m so fucking sorry. I love you,” he whispers into the skin behind Zayn’s ear, carefully sliding his hand between Zayn’s, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Please. Please don’t let go. Please don’t ask me to leave.”

Harry doesn’t know what’s going to happen. He doesn’t know if Zayn believes him, if Zayn will ever be able to trust him again, but he can’t give up. He refuses to give up on his family, on the man he loves with every fiber of his being, on the future that they’ve planned together that he never thought would ever be in jeopardy. He’ll do whatever it takes to prove to Zayn that he’s all in. That he doesn’t need to worry, that Harry’s his and he always will be.

He feels it as Dr. Kasper tells them that they did well today, that she’s proud of their progress and Harry very nearly has a fucking heart attack. It’s just a gentle squeeze to his hand, a tentative swipe of Zayn’s thumb over his knuckles, something he’s felt a thousand times in the twelve years they’ve been together but today it feels like hope. Hope that maybe Zayn feels the same way. Hope that he wants to fight for this, for them, for their children. Hope that he won’t let Harry go.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://inkoasis.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come find me on [tumblr](http://inkoasis.tumblr.com)


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